


Safe & Sound

by usakeh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 12:25:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2025084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usakeh/pseuds/usakeh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the people he could have gone to that night, he’d picked Sam. Now he knew, more than ever, that he’d sure as hell picked right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe & Sound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TigerKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerKat/gifts).



It took Bucky Barnes a second to register that the hoarse screaming that had woken him up had been his own. The next thing he realized was that he couldn’t _breathe_ , and that Sam Wilson had come running over to his side.  
  
“You’re safe,” Sam said, hesitating for a moment before putting a hand on his right shoulder. “You’re in my apartment. This is a safe place. You are going to be okay.”  
  
The familiar, metallic taste of adrenaline made him want to beg to differ, but Sam’s voice was immensely comforting. They had a routine. Every time, Sam used the same exact words; for some reason, that helped.  
  
 _You’re in my apartment. This is a safe place. You are going to be okay._  
  
“Can you take a deep breath for me, Bucky?”  
  
Bucky tried, only to end up with a coughing fit that _hurt_. Sam repeated the words, and placed his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, until Bucky felt calmer. Unfortunately, his second effort at taking a deep breath ended in the same result.  
  
“Damn it, man. Bucky, you really need to stop making excuses and see a doctor. That does _not_ sound right.”  
  
Bucky stared miserably down at the ground.  
  
“You know what? We’re going to see someone _today_. You know how I keep encouraging you to take little trips outside with me?”  
  
Bucky nodded.  
  
“Well, today’s trip is going to be to the E.R.; there’s a doctor working there on weekends who I happen to know very well. I can _promise_ you that she won’t hurt you. Still, if you want, I can stay in the room the entire time.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Okay to seeing the doctor, or to me staying in the room, or both?”  
  
“Both,” Bucky responded.  
  
“And you’re honestly up for this, not just saying yes because you think it’s an order?”  
  
“I’m getting really tired of not being able to breathe,” Bucky rasped. “So yes. I’ll go.”  
  
“All right, I’m going to step out of the room so you can change and get ready. I’ll be right outside your door, talking to my friend the doctor on the phone. Still, just call out my name if you need me and I’ll be right there.”  
  
Bucky nodded.  
  
As soon as Sam stepped out, he dragged himself out of bed and grabbed some fresh clothes. Jeans, a t-shirt and a fleece hoodie would do very well, he decided. He was too exhausted to shower or shave properly, so he just slipped on his shoes without even looking at himself in the mirror. He believed that the modern world’s obsession with hoodies suited him quite well indeed. He could hide in them, and feel safe. Plus, even though it had to be at least sixty degrees outside, he was shivering.  
  
“I’m ready,” he announced before stepping out of the room.  
  
“A fleece hoodie, huh? Big surprise there,” Sam said, grinning.  
  
“Should I change?” Bucky asked nervously.  
  
“I’m just teasing. You look fine. Well, you look stylish enough. You also look miserable. I don’t blame you; doctors probably aren’t really your thing.”  
  
“They’re not my idea of a good time, no.”  
  
Bucky started coughing again, and Sam rubbed his back slowly. Bucky leaned into his touch, letting it warm him. Sam always smelled so good; he loved it when Sam hugged him, or rubbed his back, or put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
Bucky slowly followed Sam out the door and into the car.  
  
Sam picked up on his increasing anxiety – that doctors weren’t his idea of a good time had been the understatement of the year – and impulsively reached out to run a hand through Bucky’s hair. Bucky jumped a bit at first, and Sam apologized, but Bucky then leaned his head on Sam’s shoulder. It was strange, how comforting Sam’s touch was; he craved it more than anything, suddenly.  
  
It seemed that Sam knew this, too.  
  
When they arrived, Sam helped him out of the car. As soon as they entered the crowded E.R., Sam went over to the receptionist’s desk and murmured something; immediately, a young male nurse ushered the two of them into an examination room.  
  
“Dr. Hadley will be here shortly,” he said. “Can you take off your fleece?”  
  
Bucky didn’t – couldn’t – respond. There was something about the examination room that reminded him of Things About Which He Couldn’t Afford to Think Right Now. Before long, he was shaking and muttering to himself in Russian. Paralyzed by panic, he watched as Sam spoke worriedly with the nurse.  
  
“I’ll just check your temperature with this, then,” the nurse finally said, showing him a strange device. “It’ll go in your ear for just a second. Then I’ll call the doctor. Okay?”  
  
Bucky nodded.  
  
“103.5°,” the nurse said, jotting it down. “Dr. Hadley will be right over.”  
  
Bucky didn’t reply. Next he knew, there was a knock at the door. It swung open, and a brunette with startlingly blue eyes entered. Not a threat, Bucky told himself. _Dr. Hadley was not a threat._  
  
“Hello,” she said, smiling at Bucky. “On the phone, Sam said that you have a really bad cough that hasn’t gone away. And I see here that you have a pretty high fever. So, I have to listen to your lungs. You don’t have to take off your fleece if you don’t want to; I’ll just slide this beneath it,” she said, showing Bucky the ends of her stethoscope.  
  
Bucky nodded.  
  
“Take as deep a breath as you can,” Dr. Hadley said.  
  
Bucky did, and immediately started coughing.  
  
“Sorry, kid. You have pneumonia. And if I remember correctly, you had the flu recently, right?”  
  
Dr. Hadley glanced at Bucky; when he didn’t answer, she scribbled out a prescription, and handed it to Sam.  
  
“Thanks a ton,” Sam said. “Can I fill this here? Now?”  
  
“No. But I may have some samples available. One second, okay, Bucky?”  
  
Bucky nodded.  
  
As promised, Dr. Hadley didn’t take long. She returned with a box in her hand. Expertly, she extracted a small pill. She looked Bucky in the eye before saying, “Bucky, I can tell that you’re really scared right now. This will calm you down a little. You don’t _have_ to take it, though; you only take it if you _want_ to take it, all right?”  
  
Desperately, Bucky reached out and grabbed the pill with shaking hands.  
  
“Put it under your tongue,” Dr. Hadley advised. “It dissolves. You’ll feel calmer soon.”  
  
She was right. In a few minutes, the shaking stopped. He was still apprehensive, but felt far more at ease.  
  
“That’s better, huh?” Sam said.  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky said hoarsely. “Thanks.”  
  
“No problem,” Dr. Hadley replied. “Anyway, the fact that you just had the flu means that the pneumonia is viral in origin. So I can’t give you anything for that. Just keep your temperature down, rest, and drink _lots_ of fluids. No cough suppressants, though, because you need to cough to clear your lungs.”  
  
Bucky nodded.  
  
“Take care of yourself, and call if you need me,” Dr. Hadley said, and then headed out.  
  
Right away, Sam wrapped his arms around Bucky comfortingly. When Bucky tried to stand, Sam was there to help, supporting most of his weight.  
  
“Thanks, Sam.”  
  
“I’m taking you straight home and making sure you get right into bed,” Sam said.  
  
“Good.” Bucky started coughing again. “Ugh,” he muttered.  
  
“Man, it hurts to even _listen_ to you cough.”  
  
“I know the feeling. I used to take care of Steve, before he was…”  
  
Bucky’s voice trailed off; his throat was so raw it hurt to even talk. And he didn’t want to think about Steve that much, anyway, in truth. He’d come to Sam precisely because he didn’t have to be the old Bucky Barnes with him.  
  
He could never be that man again, after all, no matter how infrequent his episodes became. And even if he stopped having flashbacks to what he’d done as the Winter Soldier entirely, it still wouldn’t be enough. He’d always be something of a disappointment to Steve, at best.  
  
Things were simpler, with Sam. As long as he didn’t hurt himself or anybody else, Sam was happy. Plus, Sam even genuinely liked _him_ – the new version of Bucky Barnes that had emerged – something he hadn’t believed was possible prior to the night he’d nervously rung Sam’s doorbell at three o’clock in the morning, starving, sick, and scared out of his mind.  
  
Nobody could like the new Bucky, he’d thought, a man who barely remembered his past and had done so very many unspeakably awful things. Yet, amazingly, Sam did. He took care of him when he needed it, and backed away when he needed space.  
  
“Bucky? You still with me?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
When Sam asked that, he really meant, “Are you still Bucky, or are you about to have an episode?” They were working on identifying the signs that an episode was about to happen together, but it was in no way a perfect system. They still took them both by surprise sometimes, albeit less often.  
  
“Good.”  
  
Bucky only then realized they were outside. He’d drifted off somehow while walking out. He hoped it was just the fever.  
  
“Goddamn, Barnes,” Sam said as they walked over to his car, “I don’t know how I missed your fever. You’re like an oven right now.”  
  
“You calling me hot?” Bucky responded.  
  
Sam laughed, and Bucky grinned. He loved making Sam laugh. Sam’s laugh – so joyful, so full of _life_ – was one of his favorite things to hear.  
  
Bucky drifted off during the ride home, and was barely conscious when they arrived. Sam got him to at least take off the jeans and put on sweatpants before crawling miserably under the blankets, and gave him a glass of apple juice (his favorite) and some aspirin to take. Bucky took it without complaint.  
  
“You should really eat something with that, you know. If I warmed up one of those soups you like so much, will you eat at least a little of it?”  
  
“I’ll try. And–”  
  
Bucky stopped, abruptly.  
  
“And what?”  
  
“Thanks. For taking care of me. For caring about what happens to me.”  
  
“Well, somebody’s got to.”  
  
“I mean, I did try to kill you once. Or even twice. Honestly, everything’s a little blurry right now.”  
  
“Oh, I wouldn’t let a small thing like that get in the way of helping a man I–”  
  
Sam stopped abruptly.  
  
“I really should go make that soup,” he concluded hurriedly, and headed for the kitchen.  
  
What had spooked him? Bucky curled up to stay as warm as possible and tried to make sense of Sam’s sudden awkwardness. Could it be? Could Sam _love_ him? It seemed almost _wrong_ , that he’d be lucky enough to be loved by a man like Sam Wilson, after everything that he’d done.  
  
 _That wasn’t you, Bucky; that wasn’t your fault._  
  
No matter how many times Bucky told himself that line, the one Sam had made him say over and over again, it never quite worked.  
  
He returned to a happier topic. Did Sam love him, but not want to admit it for fear that his feelings weren’t reciprocated? Were his possible feelings reciprocated? He’d loved plenty of girls, but guys had caught his eye just as often; he’d just never acted on it. Why would he? The world hadn’t been a very safe place for men who loved other men. Why choose that when he could just be like everybody else?  
  
But things were different now, or so everybody seemed to say.  
  
Did he love Sam Wilson?  
  
Even thinking about the possibility of _something_ happening between them made him smile, Bucky realized. When he heard Sam enter the apartment, his heart started fluttering. He was _nervous_.  
  
“Back with your soup! Did you miss me?” Sam joked, putting the soup down on Bucky’s bedside table.  
  
Gathering all his strength, Bucky reached out, pulled an arm around Sam, and brought him in for a kiss. Sam kissed him back, with an urgency and ardor that told Bucky he’d been waiting for this for a long, long time. God, yes. He loved Sam Wilson. And Sam Wilson, improbably enough, loved him back.  
  
The euphoria that came with this conclusion allowed him to sneak in a few more kisses before collapsing, exhausted, back on the bed.  
  
“Okay. I’ll take that as a yes,” Sam said, brushing Bucky’s long hair out of his eyes.  
  
“You can _definitely_ take that as a yes.”  
  
“You better not have given me your germs, though, Barnes,” Sam said, folding his arms across his chest as if this were a real cause for concern.  
  
“That’s touching, Wilson. Glad you care so much about–”  
  
Another coughing fit. Each one was worse than the last. When the coughing stopped, Bucky grabbed a tissue and spat the phlegm he’d coughed up into it.  
  
“Ugh, gross,” Bucky muttered. “Your doctor friend was right, though. Steve used to get pneumonia a lot, and when he did he always coughed up this kind of stuff.”  
  
“You know, you should you see if you can manage to get more sleep after you eat,” Sam suggested. “One reason this happened was because you think that you don’t need sleep.”  
  
“Sorry,” Bucky said, genuinely dismayed.  
  
“It’s okay. I understand. And if you’re apologizing because you think I’ll be mad we didn’t continue with what we were doing _before_ , stop that right now. I will never put wanting to get some ahead of your health, physical or mental. And you need to remember that, because if I ever misjudge how you’re feeling and go too far, or too fast, I want you to tell me so that I can stop. Got it?”  
  
Bucky nodded.  
  
“Thanks. The same goes for you, right? If I’m messing up, you’ll tell me?”  
  
“I’ll tell you.”  
  
Sam smiled, gently running his right hand through Bucky’s hair.  
  
“You really like that, don’t you?”  
  
“I don’t deserve someone as good as you are,” Bucky mumbled.  
  
“You have had terrible things happen to you. But you are not a bad person, Bucky. Remember? We’ve been over this. Let’s not do this now, though. I need you to eat and then rest. Preferably, sleep, but I’ll take rest if you insist on staying up.”  
  
“Will you stay here with me?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
 _Of course_. Of all the people he could have gone to that night, he’d picked Sam. Now he knew, more than ever, that he’d sure as hell picked right.


End file.
